


To Be Loved By You

by QueenofEden



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: A Little Like a Sourpatch Kid, Aftercare, Birthday Smut, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dominant Nadia (The Arcana), Except First It's Raunchy Then It's Soft, F/F, Fingerfucking, Gags, Grooming, Light Bondage, Makeup, Married Sex, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Post-Coital Cuddling, Praise Kink, Shibari, Vaginal Fingering, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-26 01:24:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19757731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenofEden/pseuds/QueenofEden
Summary: Nadia knows too well how to push her. What had she said before, long enough ago that the words are only a faint echo in her memory?She’s humble. We’re working on that.





	To Be Loved By You

**Author's Note:**

> well. i sure did do this, huh?  
> happy belated birthday wife!

"There," Nadia says, laying the small brush aside with a soft click. "I believe that should do it."

"Can I look?" Laurel breathes, parted lips sticky from the still-wet pigment. 

Indulgent as ever, Nadia merely chuckles at her eagerness. "You may."

The world floods back in as her eyes flutter open, a riot of blurry color at first, slowly coalescing back into familiar shapes: the gauzy curtains of Nadia's bed, the gilded vanity table littered with tiny bottles and pots in a myriad of colors, Nadia's face beside her, luminous and lovely as always, and finally her own, staring back at her in the mirror.

She can't help but gasp, a small, soft sound in the silence. Nadia had oiled and combed her hair to a luster, letting the soft, burnished bronze curls tumble loose past her shoulders. Beautiful, yes, but it was the face that transfixed her. Oh, Nadia had painted her so lovingly! Every detail exquisite, from the dark, pointed kohl around her eyes to the deep maroon staining her lips. Instantly familiar; the same bespoke shade Nadia herself wore nearly every day, a color she had long coveted with jealous longing, only seeing it on herself as she scrubbed its faded imprints from her skin at the end of the night.

It was striking against the powdered paleness of her own skin, but no less warm or rich-- like molten chocolate, like fresh heart-blood, like the color of Nadia's eyes in the low lantern light, when her pupils go blown wide with desire. The high, artificial pink flush of her cheeks, the blue of her eyes, all the other colors of her seem brighter, and yet somehow pale in comparison to that deep, beautiful crimson.

Her hands ache to touch, but the silken ropes that bind them hold tight, leaving her wrists twisting, her hands grasping at nothing but air.

"Do you like it?" Nadia asks, appearing in the mirror beside her, catching her gaze in the reflection.

Laurel nods until she finds her voice. "Yes," is all she manages at first, swallowing against the sudden dryness in her throat. Nadia waits, patient as a saint, for her to continue. "Yes, I love it, thank you Nadia."

"Good," she all but purrs, her hands coming up to stroke the bared skin of Laurel's chest, fingers dancing over the intricate knots and twists of the bonds that frame her breasts and throat. Every touch sparks like flint to tinder, leaving a searing heat in their wake. She watches the reflection of Nadia's hands, passing over every sliver of revealed skin, save for where she craves their touch most.

Finally, Nadia withdraws, leaving her bereft. "Stand for me. I would like to admire my work in full."

She does not scramble to follow the order, some sense of dignity still remaining in her somewhere, but she does rise quicker than she would like, clumsy with her bound hands. Too eager to please, as always. If she’d had a clear thought in her head, she would have done so languidly, with some air of grace to tease and tempt with her body. That’s part of the game, after all. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on which of them you asked, Nadia’s ministrations had burned all reason from her long ago, from the moment she’d pulled the deep, emerald green ropes from the gift box and beckoned Laurel forward with a crook of her finger.

The restraints keep her back perfectly arched, arms folded on themselves as they are. Keenly aware of Nadia’s eyes on her all the while, she positions herself in the center of the room, chin lifted high to suit the posture. Nadia stalks closer, comes and taps sharply at her naked thighs, forcing them wider apart before slowly circling, appraising her handiwork. 

_ A birthday gift _ Nadia had called them, as she uncoiled the lengths and presented them to her. She had laughed then, had let the ropes slip through her fingers, silky, smooth like water. 

_ “The gifts are supposed to be for you,” _ she’d muttered, fighting an anticipatory shiver when Nadia held them to her cheek, admiring the choice against her coloring.

_ “Oh believe me, they are,” _ she had replied, with such heat that Laurel had been mere putty in her hands from that moment on.

“Stand up straight, please,” Nadia says now, jolting her from the memories that had caused her to slump with a firm hand between her shoulder blades. She does as she’s been told, adjusting herself to please once more. The tug of the ropes is a constant reminder as she moves, feeling them pull from neck to where they loop down, a series of devilish knots settled between her legs and the cheeks of her ass. 

She knows she’s done well when Nadia hums with approval, finishing her slow circle and coming to stand toe to toe with her. Selfishly, her eyes drift back down until she can see Nadia’s face, can see the hungry smile tugging at the corner of her plush mouth. When she catches her, because of course she does, Nadia’s hand comes and strokes a line up the column of Laurel’s throat, tilting her chin back into position, far enough that her eyes can see nothing but the ceiling.

“I will not ask you again nicely,” she says, voice a low rumble that sends ripples of desire through to her core. It takes all her will not to lick her lips, too afraid of disturbing the perfectly applied makeup. She swallows thickly instead, knowing full well how Nadia can see the flex of her pulled taut throat.

Nadia laughs. “Perhaps you tire of my kindness already? After everything I’ve done for you so far?”

“No, Nadia.”

“No?” she echoes sweetly, that teasing lilt back in her voice. “You look so lovely like this. Wrapped up like a present, your pretty face painted. Are you grateful, my love?”

There’s a tug at the wide center knot that sits between her breasts, rocking her whole body. “Y-yes, Nadia.”

“Yes what?”

Laurel’s breath shudders. “Yes, I’m grateful Nadia.” Those hands again, this time on her ribs, pressing the tender skin beneath the ropes, smoothing down her sides. She dares not look down again.

“Grateful for what?”

Her eyes squeeze shut, frustration and desire warring within her. She opens them again, before Nadia can ask her to. “For your attention. For how beautiful you’ve made me.”

Nadia sighs, pleased. “My good girl. You are beautiful.”

She’s behind her now, hands stroking through the hair cascading down her back. Long fingers wind into the roots at the crown of her head and pull, drawing a ragged gasp from her throat. Every tiny point of sweet, dull pain sends a shiver of gooseflesh down the line of her whole body.

“Beautiful, and mine,” Nadia whispers, directly into the shell of her ear. Teeth scrape at the sensitive flesh, nipping at her earlobe. It’s enough to make her whine, words and mouth working in harmony. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” she repeats, feeling the truth of it well up in her chest. She loves this woman so much she could cry from it, but it’s far too early in the evening for tears.

The hand in her hair flexes, tightens. “What else?”

This time she hesitates. What else? She wracks her sex-addled mind until Nadia pulls on her hair again, sharper, harder.

“You are mine, and you are beautiful. Say it.”

_ Oh. _

“I-- I am yours,” those words come easily again. The others get stuck in her throat, thick like honey, threatening to choke her.

“And?”

Nadia knows too well how to push her. When she had asked this of her so long ago-- to take her, to decorate her as she saw fit, to make her up-- certainly she should have expected something like this. Nadia had agreed too quickly then, and tonight, unbidden, had taken her to the bath, had scrubbed and perfumed her skin and hair, had dressed her so lovingly in these gifted ropes, had taken her face in her hands and marked her with her very own paints, all without question. She should have known. Her wife did nothing by halves, after all. So clever, cleverer than she by miles. Nadia had surely seen through her in an instant, and now, having gotten what she wanted, she pays the price. What had she said before, long enough ago that the words are only a faint echo in her memory?  _ She’s humble. We’re working on that. _

“I,” Laurel swallows, tries again. “I’m beautiful.”

Release. Pain replaced by warm arms around her, hands splayed across her belly-- cool metal and warm flesh. Nadia’s cheek pressed to hers, lips trailing down her jaw to her neck.

“Thank you,” she says quietly. Then, the press of teeth at her hammering pulse, a promise. A threat. “Again.”

“I am beautiful.”

The bite is swift; the keen pressure, the wet heat of Nadia’s tongue. She cries out, a ragged combination of a gasp and a whimper, dragged forth from somewhere deep in her soul. The pleasure-pain is dazzling, waves of it rocking her, making her knees quake until at last Nadia releases her, the vise grip of her arms the only things keeping her upright. Nadia waits until her breathing evens, for her regain her footing, before smoothing the hair away from her sweat-damp brow and leaving a kiss at her temple.

“And?”

Her chest heaves. This time when the tears prick she does not fight them. “I am yours.”

Nadia’s arms unwind. “Prove it to me.” 

Laurel sobs with relief. Not carefully enough, she drops to her knees, the high pile of the rug beneath her biting into her over sensitized skin despite its softness. Nadia steadies her, pets her, then graciously lifts the skirt of her dressing gown to give her access to what she craves. There is a fleeting shock of remorse for what will happen to her makeup, but then the want overtakes her, and she presses her face greedily to Nadia’s cunt. Her tongue darts out, sweeping over Nadia’s clit-- already hard and wanting for her. She takes it between her lips and sucks, and from above she hears Nadia curse on shaky breath. 

That hand returns to bury itself in her hair, pulling her closer until all she can taste, all she can smell is the heady musk of her, deep tyrian curls tickling her nose. Her jaw aches, and it is the sweetest ache she knows. The angle is bad, but she desperately reaches with her tongue for Nadia’s entrance, wanting to feel the heat at the core of her, to drag more wetness up along her slit. Once, twice, then Nadia grunts, and comes with a reedy sigh, rocking her hips as she rides out her pleasure against her face. Laurel laps at her until she pulls away, wanting to pull every sound, every drop of satisfaction out of her.

Nadia laughs, bright as bells ringing, stepping back from her on shaky legs. “Very good,” she rasps, cupping Laurel’s cheek in the palm of her hand. The praise thrills down her spine, settles deep in her belly. Just another drop in the growing pool of arousal within her that threatens at any moment to overflow and send her reeling.

Fingers slip beneath the knot at the base of her throat, and with surprising strength, Nadia pulls her up. The pressure on her own cunt from the ropes makes her gasp, open mouthed, and Nadia takes the opportunity to drag her into a kiss, their shared slick and spit coating her from nose to chin making it something deep and filthy. When they break, Nadia reaches up to daintily wipe her own lips with a thumb, eyes heavy lidded and cheeks flushed as she takes the digit into her mouth and sucks it clean.

“Come here.” Nadia gestures to the vanity again, stopping her when she reaches the plush bench. Carefully, she begins to unwind the ropes holding her wrists. Blood and relief flood her limbs, tingling as Nadia massages the feeling back into them, practiced hands laced with healing magic. The next ropes to go are the ones that torment her most. Blissfully, Nadia pulls the loop free, and with tantalizing slowness, peels the knotted cord away from her dripping sex. With a wicked grin, Nadia takes it, soaked as it is with her own arousal, and presses it between her teeth.

“You did so well earlier. Now, your reward is silence.” Laurel whimpers around the gag as Nadia ties it tightly behind her head, her own taste flooding her senses. Nadia tuts, soothes her with a gentle caress, lifting her sweat-damp hair from her neck. “Never fear, that is only part of what you earned. Kneel. Hands and knees.”

She points to the tufted seat, barely wide enough for Laurel to plant herself on. It leaves her with her ass presented high, her own face once again staring back at her. She is utterly wrecked, she realizes with horror. The once beautiful makeup smeared across her lips, split open by her gag, and mingled with the dried remnants of Nadia’s pleasure. Even her eyes are ruined, the kohl smudged from sweat and unnoticed tears. Her heart sinks to see it, the lovely facade ruined, and she turns away from her reflection. Behind her, Nadia drifts closer, her hand taking Laurel’s chin in her grip and holding it firmly forward.

“Do not look away. I did this to you as much as the rest, my beauty.” Nadia’s lips press a light kiss to her cheek. “You did ask me to do as I pleased with you, did you not?”

Unable to answer beyond a garbled whine, Laurel nods as much as Nadia’s hold will allow.

“This is what pleases me. I have groomed you as I saw fit, pampered you as I saw fit, and now I have marked you as I saw fit as well, and you will wear me until I tire of it. Do you understand?”

She nods again, feeling cotton-headed and light. Nadia releases her, hand trailing over her shoulder, down her spine, until it reaches her ass. Fingers knead the ample flesh there, gripping and spreading her wide, exposing her tender, abraded holes to the cool night air.

“Watch yourself as I fuck you,” Nadia orders. She has no time to agree or argue before those long, elegant, absolutely utterly perfect fingers dip low into the wetness gathered between her lips and press two inside her with ease.

A sound punches out from her chest-- a high, keening whine carrying what feels like all the breath in her body. She rocks forward with every thrust of Nadia’s hand, balanced on the narrow seat, until Nadia grips the remains of her rope harness and holds her steady. It is both relief and torture, unable to thrust back into or away from the unrelenting pressure building between her legs. She watches herself as she was bid, watches as saliva gathers and drips from the corners of her mouth onto her swinging breasts, watches until her eyes lose focus from the pleasure, a lewd picture of sheer ecstasy, and at the center of it all, Nadia. She stands glorious, radiant, behind her, the muscles of her arms flexing as she works, a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead the only evidence of her exertion.

A third finger joins to stretch her wider, and the sound of wet flesh against flesh is obscene, echoing in the room, up to the domed ceiling and back until it’s all she can hear, all that exists beyond the sensations building inside her. Like fire set to powder, the agonizing build begins, waiting for the moment when the wick will catch and light and yes, yes there,  _ just there _ , the slip of a finger against her long-ignored clit to send her reeling, her whole body seizing and shuddering against Nadia’s steadfast grasp.

She comes back to herself in dribs and drabs, slowly settling back into her body one piece at a time from whatever far flung reaches her soul had been sent to. Her bones feel leaden, but it is a pleasant weight, the burden of which is lessened by Nadia’s arms wrapped securely around her, cradling her against her chest. The gag is gone, taken away sometime when she had been too far away to notice or remember. There is no more mirror, either. Nadia has moved them both to the bed, holding her in her lap. She wonders, blearily, what a sight she must look now, blissed out and well fucked on top of everything else, but the thought passes with the ease of smoke.

“Are you back with me?” Nadia asks, knuckles stroking her over-warm cheek. 

She hums, nodding, even daring to curl her toes and roll her stiff wrists. The joints give a satisfying pop. “I think so.”

Nadia smiles and kisses her forehead “You were perfect.”

“Oh, well thank you.” She reaches up and boops the tip of Nadia’s nose. “You weren’t too bad yourself.”

Shaking her head fondly, Nadia shifts them so that the plush bedspread surrounds her, freeing Nadia’s hands. “I need to untie the rest of these ropes, is that alright?”

For the first time, Laurel glances down and sees the chest harness still largely intact. With a huff, she waves her hand. “Fine, fine.”

It’s quick work under Nadia's deft hands. Within seconds the restraints loosen and slip free of themselves, pushed away to the side. Laurel takes her first full, unrestricted breath and it aches pleasantly, like removing a corset after a long day at court. She stretches long, luxuriating in her freedom. When her hips shift, she feels what remains of her wetness, sticky between her thighs, and grimaces, thinking too of the mess on her face.

“I’ll need another bath before bed, I think,” she groans, blinking up at Nadia. “How is it you still look perfect, and I, an absolute tragedy?”

Nadia winks. “Years of practice.” She slides behind Laurel, arms winding around her to pull her close, shushing her when she starts to protest. “You’ll get your bath, I promise. Just let me hold you for a moment.”

Hardly one to argue with that, Laurel relaxes against her, letting Nadia’s warmth leech into her skin and soothe her aches. After a moment of quiet, during which she times each inhalation to Nadia's until they settle together into deep, tandem breaths, Laurel asks, “Did you have a good birthday?”

Nadia hums, sounding sleepy. “Of course I did.”

“You’re sure?” she asks again. Not even the bone deep contentment of post-coital bliss able to completely smother the niggling anxiety in her stomach. “This felt rather more about me than about you. You wouldn’t prefer more gifts, another banquet in your honor?”

Nadia’s hand stretches lazily up to cover her lips with a light press of fingers, gently silencing her. Laurel sighs, and kisses the pads before collecting Nadia’s hand in her own and holding it to her heart. The glint of gold on her ring finger catches the light, and Laurel can’t help the flutter she still feels in her chest at the sight.

“Are you happy?” Nadia asks.

Laurel doesn’t even have to think about it. “Yes.”

She feels rather than sees Nadia’s answering smile, pressed against the skin of her shoulder. “Then I’ve received the best gift I could hope for.”

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out with me [ elsewhere](http://twitter.com/queenofeden)


End file.
